Brown and White Feathers
by Kemnam
Summary: These are drabbles of a wing!verse that I came up with. Bucky is one of the winged-folk, and Steve is lucky to call him his best friend. The adventures may change, but the story remains the same. Memories and scenes from the movies retold with the wing!verse. I suck at this. Read this if you like wings and Bucky Barnes, basically.
1. No Wings Allowed

_Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Winter Soldier, or any Marvel characters._

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Steve glares at the painted sign in the café window. That definitely wasn't there a week ago, he thinks. He clenches his fists as his eyebrows draw together. Bucky just barely manages to slap a hand on his shoulder before the kid can go in there and rip the sign apart. He squeezes the small muscles gently.

"Forget it, hothead." Bucky says coolly, but he doesn't take his eyes off the sign either. "Let's just go somewhere else."

"This is bull, and you know it." Steve mumbles, leaning against Bucky's hold. "They didn't even use the correct adjective. It's just 'wings'. What, like only part of you isn't allowed? That's stupid."

"Probably didn't have a big enough sign." Bucky smirks. Steve yanks himself out of the taller man's grasp.

"Bucky, this is the third sign we've seen." Steve hisses. Then he pauses, as he takes in the sight of people eating peacefully through the front windows, as if nothing were wrong. "This is our favorite joint."

"People are just trying to get by. If my not doing business with them makes it easier for them, then I'm happy to oblige." Bucky's tone is nonchalant, but Steve can see the disappointment swimming in his eyes. Bucky can tell that he isn't fooling the kid, so he sighs through his nose and drops the act. "Times are hard right now, Steve. I don't really want to make it any more difficult for other people than I have to."

Steve can't argue with that. He turns his head to the side, still angry.

"Seriously Buck. You're starting to look skinnier than me." He hears Bucky laugh, the slight rustle of feathers behind it.

"Won't that be the day, huh? Don't worry about me, pal." Bucky drapes an arm over Steve, pulling him close so that the smaller man is hidden by one of Bucky's huge wings from behind. "Hey, I think I saw a pizza joint just down that alley, what say we share a slice… Steve?"

"That's not near enough food for you and you know it." Steve can tell that he's annoyed Bucky with his selflessness now. Bucky pushes the asthmatic in front of him, getting ready to give a lecture. But before he can speak more than "Now you listen here, Steve Rogers-", Steve interjects.

"Just let me go talk to the owner." Steve focuses on Bucky's eyes. "Maybe I can get him to cut us a deal. He knows us."

Steve isn't going to let this go. Bucky can tell. He sighs and lets all of his limbs droop.

"And if you can't, then can we get pizza?" Steve can hear Bucky's stomach growling. The poor guy is starving.

Steve is bursting through that door before Bucky realizes he's gripping air. His eyes scan the room and bar quickly. He finally sees the paunchy middle-aged man through the order-pickup window. Steve is just barely tall enough to look through the opening.

"Evening, Pierre." Steve greets cheerlessly.

The Frenchman looks up and plasters a smile on his tired face. "Stevie. Always good to see you, mon ami. I hope you are keeping well."

"I saw your sign." Steve cuts to the chase. The smile disappears instantly. Pierre yells in the back for Carlo to watch the kitchen and disappears. A few seconds later, he comes out of the swinging doors, whipping his hands on the towel in his apron. He see's Bucky outside the windows looking in. Bucky just smiles and waves. Pierre doesn't wave back.

"I know what you are going to say." Pierre begins, his French-Cajun accent that he brought with him from New Orleans heavy. "But you know how it is. It is hard enough making a living without the homme ailé getting everything for free with their special 'discount'."

"He's willing to pay full, normal price." Steve looks up at the man, who cocks an eyebrow in skepticism. "Pierre come on, they are having a hard enough time trying to get by as we are."

The Frenchman scratches his stubbly chin, leaning in close to Steve. "I know Bucky may be well on paying the lot, but what if other winged-folk see and think I am still offering the discount? I can't be giving away my services for practically free…you know that I care about you boys. I would hate to see something happen to you…but given the state of things, I just can't afford to take that chance."

"You've seen other winged-folk besides Bucky?" Steve is wide-eyed, his anger momentarily forgotten. He thought Bucky was the only one in Brooklyn. Well, him and Old Ms. Turner. Pierre drops his eyes.

"Well no, but-"

"Then one winged-folk willing to pay full price isn't going to hurt your business at all." Steve lets his shoulders relax. "He's starving Pierre, hasn't eaten more than a bite in days. Your food is the only thing that has enough calories and protein to sustain Bucky."

Down in New Orleans, a new kind of gourmet sandwich had sprung up in the French Quarter. A giant wheel of bread cut in half, topped with ham, capicola, salami, portabella, and provolone, then piled high with onions, cheese, and a whole serving of olive salad. It was called a muffaletta, and it was a winged-folk's dream come true. Packed with so many calories that Steve could only handle a few bites, it could satisfy even the hungriest of winged-folk, who had to eat two meals for every one meal that regular people had. The Killian Discount that had been put into effect by the Society of Avian Affairs was to help winged-folk from spending loads of money on loads of food that they couldn't help but eat. It wasn't a problem, until the stock market crashed and prices got low. Then people started putting up signs.

Pierre looks like he's about to break. But then his face hardens. "Even so, how are you guys going to pay for this? Do you even have the money to buy these sandwiches?"

Steve blinks at the man. "I've been working two jobs and selling art. Bucky's been working overtime at the factory."

Pierre's eyes widened. "I had no idea Bucky was in the factory…"

Steve sighed through his nose. "Yeah… dropped out of school when his dad lost his job."

Pierre is looking back out the windows at Bucky again, who has turned away from the window and is sitting on the curb. His wings rest on the sidewalk on either side of him, as if the effort of holding them up was physically draining. Pierre's face saddens. He looks back at Steve, who can see the decision wrestling behind his eyes.

"Bring him in." Pierre says as he slaps a hand over his eyes and shakes his head.

Steve feels like his smile is going to split his face in half. "Thank you so much, Pierre. You know what he likes." Steve turns toward the door.

"What about you?" Pierre calls after him. Steve looks back.

"I'll just have a few bites of his."

Pierre is about to protest, but waves it away and shouts to Carlo in the back. The Italian grins out from the pickup window, a look of _I told you so_ twinkling in his eyes.

"Bucky, come on!" Steve shouts from the door.

Bucky turns to look at Steve from his seat on the curb, an incredulous look on his face.

"Really?" Bucky gets up. With one small beat of his wings he covered ten feet in one step, making a short spectacle himself for the other people walking by. "He's gonna let me in?"

"Just be glad it was payday today, pal." Steve holds the door open for Bucky. "We're paying full price."

"That is absolutely fine with me." Bucky saunters over to the table that Pierre is setting up, the usual table that he and Steve always sit at. Steve can't help but notice that what few other patrons in the joint are giving him confused and angry looks. Bucky clasps Pierre on the shoulder, his face thankful.

"We owe you one, Pierre." Bucky's stomach grumbles again, and he chuckles in embarrassment. "Seriously."

Pierre's own smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Bucky, mon fils… I didn't know you were working in the factory."

Bucky's smile falters. A split second later and it's back, making Steve think for a second that it hadn't happened.

"Well, it's good pay." Bucky says as he sits down. "And they keep telling me 'it's a job only I can do', so I'm not worried about being out of work anytime soon."

As Steve sits down, Carlo comes out of the back kitchen as well, carrying one plate with the massive sandwich on it. He shouts a massive greeting to the two of them. Steve can't help but notice he's looking a little on the skinny side, and so is Pierre. So is everybody.

"Here you go, Jimmy." Carlo places the large sandwich in front of Bucky. "Always the best for my favorite pigeon."

Bucky is too captivated by the plate in front of him to take notice of the tease, like he's never seen something so beautiful in his life. Steve can almost see the drool at the edge of his mouth. But he swallows it away as he picks up one part of the sandwich that has been cut into quarters. Steve laughs as Bucky has to practically unhinge his jaw to take a bite. When he does, his feathers stand on end. Steve, Pierre, and Carlo watch him, waiting for his reaction. His wings relax and he closes his eyes with pure contentment as he chews. Steve smiles.

"Where's yours?" Bucky asks as he takes another bite without swallowing the one he already had in his mouth.

"I get part of yours." Steve picks up another quarter. "This is supposed to feed a family of four, you know."

"I hate to be rigoureux," Pierre chimes in. "But you can pay for this, right?"

Carlo slaps the man on the arm, an annoyed expression on his face. But Bucky puts down his sandwich and stands up, fishing his hand into his trouser pocket. When he pulls his hand out, he's got a small stack of bills. Counting carefully, Bucky pulls five dollars out of the stack. Steve knows the meal would only cost about three. He knows Bucky is trying to be kind, but his family's rent isn't going to pay itself.

He hands the money to Pierre, who takes the money with a shocked expression. He looks up at Bucky, a questioning look on his face. Bucky just shrugs.

"Overtime at the factory. I told you it pays good." Bucky smiles.

Pierre is motionless for a second, as the three other men watch him. Then he embraces Bucky in a tight hug, his arms carefully places so as not to squish the boys wings. Bucky chuckles as he gently pats the older man's back. Pierre releases Bucky and looks him in the eye.

"Promise me you will leave the factory." Pierre is dead serious. "I don't care how well they pay, it's no place for a young man to waste his life away."

Bucky becomes serious too. He looks at Steve, long and hard. Steve lifts an eyebrow at him, wondering what is going through his mind.

"We'll see, Pierre." Bucky says. "But you see, I'm not there because I need to be. I'm there because others need me to be."

Pierre nods and lets Bucky sit down. Carlo puts a hand on his partner's shoulder and looks at the two boys.

"We love seeing you boys, and we really appreciate your generosity," Carlo looks sad. "But after you leave, we must ask that you don't come back here. At least, not till things get better."

Steve and Bucky nod, understanding the financial risk the two men are taking by letting Bucky use their services. It's nothing personal. The two men head back to the kitchen.

Bucky eats the whole thing in a matter of minutes. Steve only got a couple of bites in before the calories start to set in, and he feels full. Bucky tried to coax him into eating more, but Steve was adamant about letting Bucky get his fill. "You'll use it better than I will," Steve says. Bucky does eat it, and he already looks better by the time they're done. There's a little more color in his cheeks, a little more strength in his wings. Bucky leans back and puts his hands over his stomach, letting out a content sigh.

"Better?" Steve asks with a slight grin.

"Much better." Bucky laughs. "There's only so much that Ms. Turner's cookies can do."

"We should get going." Steve stands, seeing that the other patrons are still giving Bucky and him looks. Bucky waves at Steve, motioning him to sit back down so he can digest a little. Steve remains standing, monitoring the joint. Everybody he makes eye contact with quickly looks away. Bucky watches him, slightly amused. He a sly grin creeps on his face, deciding this would be the perfect time to mess with Steve.

Clasping his hands over his head, Bucky stretches. His wings spread apart slowly, all twelve feet taking up all the room in the joint. They quiver with his rippling muscles, making the feathers shimmer in brown and white waves. The longest of his flight feathers touch the floor. Steve starts at the sight, knowing that Bucky is doing this on purpose. He can hear people giving small gasps of wonder and awe. Annoyed, Steve clears his throat loudly. Bucky just arches his back against the chair he's sitting in, making his spine crack.

"Bucky." Steve says flatly.

Bucky snaps his wings shut, sending little gusts of wind in either direction. He leans forward and gets out of his chair. He heads for the door, eyes straight forward. The grin on his face is barely concealed. Steve follows in a huff, but the damage has been done. Everybody in the café is watching them leave. When Steve gets outside, Bucky is standing by the curb, a huge smile on his face.

"You know you look stupid when you do that." Steve grumbles.

"I think those nice people in there would disagree." Bucky is so pleased with himself. "Now they've seen something they might never see again, thanks to me."

Steve rolls his eyes. Winged-folk are rare, but it's not like they're endangered. True, some people live their whole lives without seeing one in real life. Steve was just one of the few lucky people that had the curse of calling one his best friend.

"It's harmless fun, lighten up." Bucky starts walking down the sidewalk. "Now come on, I've got a long day of cleaning the smoke-chute at the factory tomorrow, and we still have enough money to get a slice of pizza, and you're actually going to eat some of it this time."

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A/N: Hello! So this is actually based off of this tumblr post; (imaginebucky dot tumblr dot com) /post/ 92153193069/ i-have-this-wing-verse-that-i-love-its-the-same

That is, in fact, my submission, so feel free to follow me on tumblr as user actuarialturtle!

My other fics weren't getting that much love, so I decided to do something else. Don't worry, they will still get updated, but I'm having a hard time writing stuff that nobody wants to read(as selfish as that is).

You guys will learn more about the wing!verse as we go along, but feel free to ask me any questions. Oh, and if you've never had muffaleta, you're missing out.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	2. Powder Down

It wasn't until Steve had known Bucky for about six years that he revealed the fact that his wings hadn't started growing until he was about four or five. Trying to imagine Bucky without wings was almost impossible for Steve, because they were such an integral part of who he was. He couldn't imagine a day where Bucky wouldn't spend hours on the weekend preening and cleaning them, making sure each feather was in its right place and that they didn't have too much dust build up. The story both fascinated and horrified Steve, knowing that one's life could change so drastically overnight. Although, according to Bucky, it wasn't over night.

It had come up in casual conversation one day when Bucky was over at Steve's for lunch. Bucky was over at Steve's apartment all the time, and he always loved the way Mrs. Rogers made potato salad and baked chicken. And she always made extra too, like she knew Bucky was going to drop in. Eventually it had just been a given that whenever Mrs. Rogers made food, Bucky would show up.

"This is delicious, Sarah." Bucky looks up at the kind woman, who smiles back down at him as she sits down at the table as well.

"Thank you kindly, James." Mrs. Rogers still had a trace of an Irish accent. Her hair was tied back in a bun. She looked very tired, and Steve had seen her coming down with a cold over the past few days. But she refused to rest. "You're always welcome here."

"Not to say that my mom's cooking isn't wonderful." Bucky fills his plate up again. "But she really only knows how to cook two things; beans and carrots."

"You're welcome to take any of this back home with you. We have so much extra food since Joseph passed away, and what with Steve only eating hardly more than a few bites." Mrs. Rogers says as she looks at her son, who just plays with the food on his plate. She gives a small smile to her son, then laughs as she turns back to Bucky and sees him stuff his face. "If you can manage to restrain yourself from eating it all."

"Will do, Sarah." Steve doesn't really know why Bucky calls his mom by her first name. Steve knows he does the same with his own mom and dad, so maybe it's just a thing within the Barnes family. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Bucky noisily chowing on the chicken. Steve is about to make a crack at Bucky being a cannibal when his mom speaks up.

"So James, tell me something." Mrs. Rogers leans forward toward the young man, who looks up at her. "When did your wings come along?"

Steve looks up, thinking that his mom had just asked a ridiculous question. But Bucky nods and swallows his food.

"About when I was five." He says, wiggling his wings against his back. "One day my back started aching, then it got worse and worse until my ma took me to a doctor."

"Five? Really? Isn't that rather late?" Mrs. Rogers looks shocked. Bucky shrugs and makes a face.

"Better late than never, I suppose." Bucky laughs. "Kind of been that way my whole life."

"Wait a minute." Steve drops his fork as the other two look at him. "You mean you weren't born with them?"

"No, of course not." Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him. "What, did you think I was? Didn't they teach you this stuff in fifth grade?"

"It's not his fault." Mrs. Rogers interjects. "Steven was sick a lot during grade school. He might have missed a few things."

Steve is now more confused than ever, so his mom turns to him.

"All of the winged-folk are born without wings." Her voice is gentle and wise. "Thank god for it, too. Birth would be so much harder if that weren't true."

"You know there's no genetic link as to why people grow wings, right?" Bucky says around a spoonful of potato salad. "It's completely random. Winged-folk have kids that are wingless, and vice-versa, obviously. Same thing goes for the type of wings and feather color. Anybody could just grow wings one day."

"Well, that's not entirely true." Mrs. Rogers says. "Nobody has ever grown wings past the age of six."

"So yeah, let me tell you Stevie." Bucky sits forward in his chair, preparing his story. "This is back when my family still lived in Indiana, right? One day, I come home from school with tears streaming down my face, because my back and shoulders are hurting like a-" Bucky glances at Mrs. Rogers. "They hurt, a lot. Winifred thinks it's just growing pains, gives me a pinch of opiate and sends me to bed. Some nights she would give me back massages as best as she could, and I can vaguely remember her fingers pressing against something hard in my shoulders. I wake up the next morning feeling fine, but by the end of the day, I'm in pain again. This goes one for about a week, until even the medicine doesn't make me feel better anymore. I got weird bruises on my shoulder blades that just appeared out of nowhere, and Becky had to help me convince my parents that I wasn't fighting at school."

"Did your mom know what was happening?" Steve is captivated.

"I think she and George might have suspected, but they weren't sure until she finally took me to the doctor." Bucky looks down. "Doc knew what was going on right away, but he still did the x-ray. I got to see it too since the Doc used it to explain what was happening to me, 'cause I was young and had no idea what was going on. It was weird, let me tell you, seeing the bones and all, just kinda waiting there underneath my skin."

Steve blinks at his friend. He can't even imagine how much it must have hurt. But Bucky has always been strong. Once, Bucky had dropped a giant rock on his foot when the two of them were digging for worms and broke his big toe. He didn't even cry, and decided to hover above the ground and keep digging with Steve. Mrs. Barnes had been so angry with them.

"What happened then?"

"Well obviously they took me to SAA headquarters or whatever down in Atlanta. That was the first time I had left the state. I didn't get to see much of countryside though, since I was sleeping the whole time so I wouldn't cry. When we got their, the wings were starting to separate from my back." Bucky shrugs and rolls his eyes. "They were expecting me, of course."

"No yeah, of course." Steve looks at his mom, who doesn't looked as surprised as he did. He hopes the look on his face isn't showing just how confused he is.

"Yeah, well you know." Bucky shifts in his seat. "I had all the signs when I was born; the sockets in my shoulder-blades, the extra pectoral muscles, all of it. The only things missing were the wings themselves. They were practically waiting for me when I walked through that door."

"Every baby is checked for these… early development signs." Mrs. Rogers spoke up, seeing that Steve is still confused. "I went through all of this as well, when I had you."

"And did I have any…?" Steve can't believe his mother never told him any of this before.

"You had one socket on your left shoulder, but that was it." Mrs. Rogers looked down. "The doctors said it was very unlikely you would develop any further."

"And trust me, you don't want to." Bucky sneered at the memory in his head. "There's not a whole lot they can do for you at the SAA, let me tell you. They just let the whole thing happen naturally, try to make it easy for you. And the way they 'make it easy for you' is by basically forcing you into a coma. They only woke me up to eat, drink, and do my business and every time I did wake up it hurt to breath. I was in and out of it for about three weeks, or so they told me. It's all just one big blur, really. But Winifred never left my side, and even brought Becky and the other little ones to come visit me one time."

Steve could only imagine what Bucky's little siblings thought about their oldest brother going through such a change. Becky would have cried, definitely. Of all the people in his family, Bucky was closest with his sister. Steve thought Bucky was very lucky in that aspect.

"Finally, one day I wake up and I'm not in pain." Bucky's voice has gone soft as he stands up, bringing his wings forward so he and the Rogers can see them. "And let me tell you Steve, I was pretty shocked."

Steve stares at the wings; brown on top, but pale white on the underside. The longest flight feathers and secondary feathers are blotched with white spots on the edges, giving them a striped look when they were unfurled and a speckled look when bunched up. Steve is trying to picture it in his head, what it must be like to wake up one day and suddenly have-

"Freaking things were covered in down, for god's sake." Bucky snaps his wings shut. "Like a baby chicken; fluffy, soft, and completely useless."

Steve pauses, staring at Bucky as a new image enters his head. Bucky with little cherub wings that are too small for his body. Suddenly he can't stop laughing. His mom and Bucky start laughing, too. Bucky has to sit down.

"Luckily, they didn't let me leave the building until my first molt and actual feathers grew in." Bucky's smiled turns soft. "When I came home, the little ones couldn't stop staring at me. You would think that they had never met me before. But they got over it really quick. They wanted to pet and play with my wings, but the people at the SAA told me to never let anybody touch them because of the oil. If the oil gets brushed off, the feathers can split and you can't fly properly. And it looks bad. Yeah, they basically gave me an entire manual on wing care then kicked me out saying 'good luck'."

"And you have some lovely plumage, Bucky." Mrs. Rogers puts a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Steve tells me that you preen almost everyday, but you don't need oil. You see this?" Mrs. Rogers points to a spot on Bucky's right wing where it almost connects to his back. Steve squints his eyes at the spot, barely making out the silvery dust on the feathers. "This is powder down. Some of your feathers dissolve into a coating, and it works the same as oil, if not better."

"Really? I always thought my feathers just attracted insane amounts of dirt." Bucky inspects his wings for a few seconds then turns back to Mrs. Rogers. "You know an awful lot about this stuff, Sarah. Where did you learn?"

"My father was a falconer back in Galway. I used to watch him with his prized birds. He might have trained me a little, too." Mrs. Rogers winks.

"Is that so?" Bucky's eyes brighten. "Then do you thing you could tell me what kind of wings I got?"

Mrs. Rogers is quiet as she takes in the details of Bucky's wings as he opens them for her. The things are so goddamn big, Steve thinks.

"It's hard to say." Mrs. Rogers yawns. "Only certain types of birds make powder down. Falcons, hawks, parrots, pigeons... but if I had to guess, it would probably be some kind of owl, since your flight feathers are so long and narrow. They're perfect for silent, long flight."

Bucky turns to Steve, a wide smile on his face. "No wonder I like your family so much. My family don't know jack about birds."

"Including how to cook them, apparently." Steve looks down at the plate of bones in front of Bucky.

Steve asked Bucky many questions about when his wings grew for many years after that. Was there surgery involved? No, don't think so. How did the muscles develop? They were already there, just didn't have anything to attach to. Was that when you had to register with the SAA? No, that was about a year later when he had learned how to fly. Did he remember what it was like to be wingless? Were his wings the reason his family had moved to New York? Had he ever thought about having them cut? Jesus Christ, Steve, yes now shut up.

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A/N: As a note, I have not read the comics. I have only seen the movies. I look up certain things on the numerous Marvel Wikis that are out there to get details that they don't include in the movies. But they did point out that Bucky was the oldest of four, and I know one of his siblings was named Rebecca. Did you know Steve had a little brother in one arc? But I'm keeping it simple. Or, you know, simple-ish.

If you can guess what kind of wings Bucky has, you get props. Hint: it has to do with the bird in the cover image.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	3. Fingernails

There was a part of Bucky that Steve had only seen about three times. It was a dark, menacing, and sometimes violent side that scared the living daylights out of Steve. That darkness had never been unleashed on Steve, but he had seen it in action.

Steve wasn't kidding himself or anybody by thinking that he was a cautious person. He got in fights. He got in fights a _lot_. The kid was down a back alley getting his ass kicked just about every other day. Sometimes Bucky would find him and intervene; sometimes he wouldn't come along until after Steve had been thrown in the trash. Bucky hated it too. He wasn't a fighter, like Steve. He preferred to use his wit and sarcasm to just humiliate the person into going away. But when he had to, he would knock a few skulls so Steve wouldn't get his own split open.

But Steve had gone too far this time. A few guys were hassling a young girl, and she clearly wasn't interested. They wouldn't stop, so Steve stepped in. Next thing he knew, he was backed up against the wall between an old apartment complex and a bank, five men surrounding him looking very displeased, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

"Five against one, yeah that's completely fair." Steve has already raised his fists, he could feel his heart pounding.

"Big mouth for such a little runt." The guy in the center , who has a scar across his forehead, takes a step forward. "Maybe it's time you learned to keep that mouth shut."

He takes another step forward and shoves Steve hard, making him stumble against the bricks. Before he could scramble to his feet, a man to his left in a red jacket grabs him by the lapels and lifts him off the ground and slams him against the wall again, cracking the back of Steve's head against the bricks. Steve's head throbs and the edges of his vision blur. His feet weren't even touching the ground.

"Easy there, Jethro." The first guy says as he comes up beside them. "I want this punk to remember this."

Steve grabs at the hand grasping his clothes. Grunting, he twists the wrist as far and as hard as he can. He hears a pop and Jethro groans in pain. He drops Steve, who lands on his feet and immediately goes with a right hook toward scarhead's face. But it never hit its mark. Another guy grabs his arms and holds them behind his back, effectively holding Steve in place.

"Let him have it, Lance." Steve struggles against the man, but he isn't budging.

Lance grins as he punches Steve in the gut. Then the face, and the face again. The other three are cheering him on loudly, moving their bodies in an aggressive fashion as the beating continues. Steve rolls his eyes under the black eye that will definitely be there tomorrow.

"HEY!"

The punching and cheering stops as they all look up. Steve turns his head toward the sky, and sure enough, he can see the silhouette of wings against the sun. Bucky drops down into the alley, all eyes suddenly on him. He keeps his wings partially unfurled, trying to make himself look bigger than he his. He doesn't have to try very hard. He already looks extremely pissed off, and the soot on his face and wings greatly adds to the effect.

"Hey Buck." Steve says even though his lip has gone numb. "Did you just get off of work?"

"Shut up, Steve." Bucky sneers at the younger man. Steve knows Bucky is just irritated because this is actually the second time this has happened today. The first time, Bucky managed to swoop in and snatch Steve away before the beating could start.

"This don't concern you, featherhead." Lance tilts his chin and looks down his nose at Bucky.

"You've had your fun, now let the kid go." Bucky starts walking toward Steve, still being held in a stranglehold. "This doesn't have to get any worse."

Lance glares at Bucky for a few moments. Then his features soften and he puts a smile on his face.

"Let it never be said that I am not a reasonable person." Lance looks at the guy holding Steve. "Let him go, Franky."

Steve can't see the man's face, but by the way he hesitates, he can tell that Franky is as surprised as Steve is. Then he lets go of Steve, walking over to stand behind Lance with the rest of his friends. Steve brushes off his sleeves and straightens his coat as he walks over to Bucky, who still looks pissed.

"I had them on the ropes." Steve says without meeting Bucky's glare.

Bucky doesn't say a word, but he does grab Steve by the chin and forces his head up. Bucky's eyes roam Steve's face, taking in the purple eye, the split lip, and the bruise on his cheek.

"Anything broken?"

Steve takes a deep breath, feeling the muscles on his chest and stomach ache, and shakes his head. Bucky mumbles a curse at Steve as he wheels the kid around and embraces Steve under his arms, turning his eyes toward the sky. Steve can tell that he's going to get a very stern lecture for this. Just before Bucky takes off, Steve looks over his shoulder and behind Bucky, back at Lance and his friends. Lance's smile has turned from hospitable to cruel, and Steve knows he's up to something. Then he realizes that Jethro isn't standing with Lance.

Bucky jumps and thrusts his wings down at the same time. He and Steve are about five feet off the ground when, suddenly, Bucky jerks to the side. Bucky screams as they both plummet back to the ground. Growling loudly, Bucky maneuvers his body so that he is underneath Steve when they crash back to the cement. Steve scrambles to his feet, worry and confusion pounding in his chest. Bucky stays lying on his back, tears at the edge of his eyes which are fogged with pain. Steve isn't sure what is wrong until he hears laughter.

Spinning around, he sees Jethro with a stupid grin on his face as he holds up a handful of sooty brown and white broken feathers. Lance and his buddies are howling with amusement. Steve spins back to Bucky and scans his wings. There is a large gap in the flight feathers of his right wing where the feathers have been ripped out. Steve can even see that the wing has started bleeding, dripping through the primaries and secondaries and onto the sidewalk. Bucky's face is red underneath the soot from holding his breath against the pain and his hands have become claws. His mouth is open in a silent scream.

Steve whirls around, baring his teeth with anger. He charges at the group of men, who don't see him coming. Jethro crumples and drops the feathers as Steve kicks him between the legs. The laughter stops. Steve spins around and cracks Franky in the jaw with all his strength. With a small roar, Steve rams one up under Lance's ribs. Lance stumbles away, but Steve can tell that he isn't hurt that badly. He's about to kick Lance in the face while he's still doubled over, but one of the other two picks Steve up off the ground and throws him, literally throws him onto the ground. A kick to the stomach quickly follows. Steve curls into a ball as they surround him, assaulting him with their feet and fists.

A shoe slams into the back of his head. Steve sees a flash of red and his whole body goes limp. Someone rolls him over so he is lying on his back looking up at the sky, which is framed by five very angry faces. Steve smirks at the sharp pain in his chest. Yep, something is definitely broken now. He rolls his head to the side, looking for Bucky. But his winged-friend isn't where Steve left him. Steve's heart jumps, and suddenly he fears for the safety of these men. This is exactly how it happened the first time.

Franky is suddenly yanked away, giving a strangled yelp followed by a sickening crunch. The others look up from Steve, shock on their faces. Steve tries to sit up, but it hurts to move. He's starting to feel tired. The others leave Steve. They are shouting and yelling. Steve finally manages to roll himself over, but a wave of nausea washes over him. After a few moments of catching his breath, Steve looks up.

Bucky's hair is disheveled, hanging in front of his eyes. His teeth are bared as he dodges attacks. In his hand he has a broken piece of wood that he probably picked up from the ground by the trash, and he wields it like a club. Franky is tossed to the side, on the ground clutching at his knee which is bent at an odd angle. His movements are extremely quick, faster than anything Steve thought was possible. Bucky brings the club down on Jethro's head, knocking him out instantly. His eyes are wide, his pupils are pinpoints on his steel-blue irises.

Steve tries to stand, knowing he has to make Bucky stop before he goes too far. But he can't feel his legs, and his arms are getting tired. He tries to speak, but his voice comes out as a harsh whisper. Bucky doesn't even look at him. Sweat is mixing with the soot on his face. Steve doesn't know how much longer he can stay conscious. Bucky swings the board at the head of one of the three remaining. The board catches the boy on the neck. His eyes go wide and he stumbles away gasping for air. Spinning to dodge a punch from the other man, his wings shut tight against his body, Bucky raises the board over his head and bludgeons it down on the poor man's shoulder. There is a loud crack as the collarbone and the board both break.

Everything is starting to go hazy for Steve. He can't hold himself up anymore. Bucky turns to engage Lance in fisticuffs, every bit of his training at Goldie's Boxing Gym coming out. Steve blacks out for an instant, and when he brings himself back, Lance is on his knees in front of Bucky. Steve can't hear any words because his ears are ringing. Bucky has a split lip now, too. Steve knows he's about to black out again, and this time for good.

"Bucky, don't…" Steve reaches a hand toward his friend.

Just before everything goes dark, Steve see's Bucky pull his fist back. But he never sees the final blow.

Bucky carried Steve home by foot. His wing bled the entire way, and people would pause to stare at the winged-boy that looked like he had just been through hell and the skinny kid in his arms who didn't even look alive. Some even asked if he needed help. Then they got a closer look and say the blood spattered across his face, mixing with the black soot. He didn't say anything at all and kept walking.

Bucky wasn't able to fly for months after that, having to wait till the feathers grew back. He lost his job because of it. He was grounded, both physically and socially, since his mom threw herself into a tyraid of worry and anger when he came home the next day, having spent the night at Steve's watching over him. Those were the saddest months of Bucky's life. Steve had a concussion and a broken rib, plus numerous bruises. His own mom had given him a verbal beating, and for the next half year after school or work, Steve was to come straight home and that was that.

Bucky told Steve later, when they managed to get some time to themselves, that ripping feathers out was about the same as having fingernails torn off. Steve never revealed to Bucky that he had seen what Bucky had done to those boys, since Bucky assumed Steve had been out of it the whole time. Steve saw Bucky differently from then on, even though that side of Bucky didn't come out for a long time after that. Whenever he drew Bucky, he always scribbled a shadow over his eyes, even though it was the stark opposite of how wide and fierce that they had been. Steve hated looking into those eyes, hated that they had been on his best friend who was one of the nicest people that Steve knew. He hoped he would never have to look into those eyes again. And for a long time, he didn't. And eventually the incident began to fade away into a distant memory.

Until they went to fight in the war, then Steve looked into those eyes everyday.

* * *

A/N: We all know Bucky was a little trigger happy in the first movie. Don't lie to yourself. Just so you guys know, this isn't really going in any kind of order. Their ages are going to jump around. This story takes place when they're about seventeen. Steve's mom is sick and dying and he can't really do anything about it so he takes his frustrations onto the streets. I couldn't really find the right place to put that detail in there.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


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